


A Major Minor Treble

by Hypercamera3



Series: Completed Fic Requests [2]
Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon & Comics)
Genre: Clarinet, Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Nervousness, Orchestra, Purple Prose, Rhapsody in Blue, Wirt's Inner Monologue Refuses To Quit, Wirt's Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 12:03:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20135161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hypercamera3/pseuds/Hypercamera3
Summary: Tonight, Wirt is going to be playing with his school orchestra in front of a proper crowd, including a clarinet solo, and he is losing his mind over it. Thankfully, his ever-helpful girlfriend is here to guide him through it.





	A Major Minor Treble

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic request for Nour (https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nour386): Wirt plays with an orchestra for the first time.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Blow just enough, don’t empty your lungs too soon. Flex the fingers. Bend the pitch. That was the big trick. It was easy. He’d mastered it. Days and days and days of rehearsal had led him to nail the trick. He was a master now. He just needed to focus on his breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. 

It wasn’t as though the most important moment of his life was sitting just ahead of him, moments away, no certainly, not at all. Or perhaps the thin veneer that separates this moment from the rest of his future was being burned away, leaving only the ill-advised buffoon at the foot of the insurmountable obstruction. The solitary journeyman being forced to forever drift along the tempestuous ocean, adrift for no other awful sin than that he had simply squandered his chance at a future through his own incompetence, his own singularly unified inability to be prosperous through the one talent he had cultivated. 

“Wirt.” Sara had shook him roughly to end his monologue that afternoon. “It’s just one _school_ _orchestra_ performance.” 

“Oh no, no,” Wirt responded. “This isn’t _ just _ a recital, Sara. This is _ my _ performance to ruin. This isn’t just me being slotted in with the other woodwinds, this is Gershwin! This is _ Rhapsody In Blue_.” 

“Wirt, you’re overreacting.” 

“This is the most famous, nay, the most important piece of music to ever include the clarinet. To perform that opening solo, put to the air that sweet _ glissando_, it’s the dream of any clarinet player worth their salt. And that’s before the rest of the piece, and the solo piece required of me later. If I mess this up, well I’m no better than a hack! Some ridiculous vagrant dragged in off the street, put in a tuxedo, and handed some stick to blow into!” He had undone his bow tie during the course of his rant, gripping it tightly in his fist. 

Sara grabbed his shoulders and pushed him against the wall. Wirt’s eyes went wide as his words stopped dead in his throat. She yanked the tie from his hand and began the task of fixing his bow tie. 

“You’re sweating through your suit,” she said curtly. 

“I,” Wirt sighed. His hands rose up to his face. Through his palms his muffled words escaped: “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” 

Sara sighed. She pulled his jacket off and continued at his tie. 

“I didn’t mean to shout.” 

“I know.” 

“I’m just–” 

“I know. You’re gonna be fine.” 

“But what if I get my breathing wrong, or I hit the wrong key?” 

“You’ve been practicing for weeks, you told me so, it’s gonna be perfect.” 

“I’ve never played in front of a crowd like this, Sara. In front of crowds, sure, but entrusted with this weight upon my shoulders? I can feel the spine shattering skittishness running through my body.” 

“And out of your body too.”

“Huh?” 

Sara pushed her hand against Wirt’s chest. He felt the wet stick of his sweat covered undershirt against his chest. Sara pulled her hand back, slick with his sweat, and quickly wiped it on her jeans. She pulled the bow tie off of him again. “You need to change your shirts. They’re all sweat at this point.” 

“I’ll change before I go to the concert hall,” Wirt answered. “I don’t know, this all feels so very… intimidating.” 

“You’re gonna do great, Wirt! Just breathe, alright?” 

“Breathe.” 

“Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.” Sara demonstrated. 

Wirt followed her example.

“It’s forty-ish seconds you’re worrying about, and nine minutes of just playing what you have to with the band. Don’t focus on the crowd, don’t worry. I’ll be there, Greg’ll be there, your mom and step-dad are gonna be there–” 

“And so will Jason Funderburker!”

Sara and Wirt shot around towards the doorway. Greg stood at the threshold, a wide smile filling his face, his pet frog held high over his head.

“You are not bringing your pet frog to my recital, Greg,” Wirt declared. 

“You might tell me what to do,” Greg struck a pose and pointed at Wirt, “but not even I can tell Jason Funderburker what to do.” 

“Get out of my room!” 

“Cheese it, Jason Funderburker!” Greg set his frog on his head and turned. Hands in front of him, he bent his wrists to fire up the engine on his sweet hog. “Vroom vroom,” Greg sped off down the hallway before Wirt could catch him. 

Wirt heaved a sigh. His hands were busy at the buttons of his sweaty dress shirt. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. He wanted to bring his music and his practice to his mind, but his efforts were fully focused on his shirt now. He kept fumbling on the fourth button, flicking it up towards the hole but somehow the strings would stay attached. Inhale Exhale Inhale Exhale. He just needed to change clothes and get his mind fresh. It wouldn’t be an issue once he had time to just relax, focus on anything else. Then the uproarious momentum that pushed this fateless traveler ever onwards towards the immovable fortress wall would launch him forth. This utterly odious fool would able to follow the advice of his beloved and also bear witness to the wholesale collapse of all terra firma that supported he, plunging ever deeper and deeper into the infernal, abyssal pit of despair and misfortune and disproved fortune. InhaleExhaleInhaleExhaleInhaleExhaleInhaleExhaleInhaleExhaleInhaleExhaleInhaleExhaleInhaleExhaleInhaleExhaleInhaleExhaleInhaleExhale.

Sara’s fingers appeared before him and undid the fourth button. 

“When I said you needed to breathe, I didn’t mean hyperventilate, and you know that,” she said. “I’m gonna get back home and get ready for the recital. I’ll see you tonight.” 

“Okay,” Wirt said. He shook a hard breath out. “I’ll see you tonight.” 

“You’re gonna do great. Don’t worry about the crowd, just focus on anything else.” 

“What about the music?” 

“And the music, focus on the music, too!” 

“Oh, alright.” 

“I’ll see you later.” 

She kissed his cheek, grabbed her backpack, and left the room. 

Wirt continued to struggle with his next button.

And now here he was. He was on stage, surrounded by the other woodwinds, in the town concert hall. Many of the musicians he saw around him he recognized from marching band. They had all joined this band program mostly as just an excuse to play something beyond football games. The curtain separated them from the crowd. His hands gripped the clarinet tight, as though he’d run the risk of it simply flying out of his hands. He stared forward at his stand, focusing on the upward curve of notes he’d be performing. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. He ran through his tips yet again. Blow just enough, don’t empty your lungs too soon. Flex the fingers. Bend the pitch. Inhale. Exhale. 

The call came from a stagehand. Curtain up in seconds. 

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. 

The curtain slowly rose as the conductor (the band teacher) made his way across the stage. The crowd started their clapping for his appearance. Wirt scanned the crowd for a moment. Inhale. Exhale. 

He saw his mother and his step father. He saw Greg beside them, tugging desperately at the collar of the dress shirt they had forced upon him. Happily, Wirt saw no frog. As the applause from the crowd died down, Wirt turned his eye to the conductor, who was theatrically checking the music sheet and lifting the baton. 

Wirt knew his timing. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Big Inhale. He looked out to the crowd again. 

Beside Greg, he saw Sara. Her dark hair was done up into curls. Even in the dim light, he could make out the beautiful blue dress she wore. Strapless, full length, and as-the-ocean-against-the-sunlight blue, he’d never seen this dress on her. Was it an old dress? Or had she bought it specifically for tonight, for his show? 

He focused again on the sheet music in front of him as the conductor pointed to him. The mouthpiece pressed against his lips, he blew into the clarinet. 

His eyes couldn’t help but to focus again on Sara. Now, he couldn’t take his attention from her. She had spotted him watching her and a smile filled her face. He feathered his pinky finger against the clarinet to bring to life the ascending, start-stop pitch of _ Rhapsody In Blue_. His fingertips began to slip away from the clarinet openings as he moved to the next part of his sheet. They smeared along the clarinet opening to bring to life the melodic squeal that called forth the rest of the instruments. The brass and the woodwinds kicked in. 

But the eyes of the weary nomad could only focus on his beloved. Lost in her radiant smile, he was dedicated into throwing himself headlong into the tumultuous ocean she claimed as a wardrobe and drown deep in her hazel eyes. All others melted away until all that remained was the traveler and his love. Now, he had uncovered the rhythm of his instrument buried deep within his soul. He lifted the clarinet as his part gained more energy and the rest of the band invited themselves into the number. But he made sure he pointed out towards the girl who wore the sea. This performance was meant for her. 

Yet, as soon as he had unearthed the secret at the core of his fundamental realities as a bard, the trumpet began, signalling an end to his movement. Wirt lowered the clarinet, pulling his mouth from it. He only now noticed the flush that had risen to his face. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale Exhale. 

The conductor was building towards the next movement, the crash of the first crescendo. The soft piano played as everyone around Wirt readied their instruments. His moment in the spotlight had moved on, and now he just had to concern himself with playing correctly for the next nine minutes. For this brief moment, however, he quietly held his victory and took this moment to rest. The rest would not last, as he prepared for the crash of the band signalled by the piano, but he would refuse to look away from Sara until he was through. 

###

Wirt was backstage after the show, packing up his clarinet, when his family and Sara found him. Sara had the sense to wear sneakers and she made a sprint towards Wirt. He watched as the dress floated around her as she approached, unable to shake the thought that she was running on air. She held her arms out. 

“Wirt! That was–” 

Wirt grabbed her and pulled her into a kiss. 

“It was perfect!” Wirt declared when he finally broke the kiss. “Did you hear it, Sara? Of course you did, what am I saying! It was perfection, it was the best I’ve ever played. And it was all thanks to you.” 

Wirt finally took the moment to notice the shocked flush creeping over Sara’s face from the sudden kiss and boisterous confidence. Eyes wide, she stumbled a second. “It-It-It was all you, Wirt!” 

He held her hands tight, bringing her close again. “No, no, I could not have achieved anything had my muse not been there to guide me.” 

“Wirt, don’t get cheesy on me.” 

“I mean it, I mean it! Thank you. Thank you for being here,” Wirt said. 

“I’ll always be right here,” Sara said. 

“Are you two going to kiss again? Because if you do, I am leaving,” Greg announced, fighting to remove his collar still. 

Wirt shared a look with his brother a moment, an intense stare-off. He turned, pressing a hand against Sara’s cheek and kissed her softly. 

“Ugh! Disgusting!” Greg declared. He turned, grabbing his mother’s hand and running away. “Let’s blow this band stand.” 

They watched as his parents followed Greg out. 

“We should probably follow them,” Sara said. “I think they’re going out for dinner.” 

“And you’re coming?” 

“Wirt. Why would I deny free food?” 

“I know,” Wirt laughed. 

“I’m really proud of you, Wirt, you did so great out there!” Sara pulled him into a tight hug. Wirt squeezed her tight. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave a comment, let me know what you hated and didn't hate as much.


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